Enucleation
by Midorima Kazunari
Summary: Knowing that Gakuso can look through his left eye, Nishizono finds a way to survive, and the body count will continue to rise. (Rated for violence and gore, so yeah, Exactly like the manga). This is not for the faint of heart.


"Give me your wallet," he said, pointing the gun at the clinic's doctor.

The doctor gulped, but complied. "I don't carry cash. This is a bad neighborhood..." he said.

The intruder leered. "This your wife and kids?" he asked, flashing the photograph from the bi-fold wallet before turning to the ID and reading the name, Ōtsuka Yuki, and his address, two subway stations away.

It was dark outside, the rest of the staff was long gone, Dr. Ōtsuka had only stayed to finish up some last-minute notes, and while the quiet corner clinic was great during the busiest part of the day, at night that advantage turned into a disadvantage as he sat while the man in the sloppy suit and an eye patch holding a gun like... like it was a natural part of his wardrobe, stood towering over him.

"Now that I know where you live and who your family are," the man said, throwing the wallet on the counter, "let us assume that if you try anything I... dislike, that I will shoot you in the face and then go to your home and do the same with your loved ones. Can we agree that scenario _will_ happen?"

"Yes," the doctor mumbled.

He pushed the gun against the doctor's cheek. "What was that? You need to speak up. If you clench your jaw like that, the bullet will likely break a few teeth on the way through, but you'll live as long as you don't bleed out, or go into shock. Either way, it would be nasty to live the rest of your life with a ventilated face; it would be messy and certainly unnecessary. Do as you are told and I will put the gun away for now."

The doctor cleared his throat. "Yes, ok. I understand. What do you want? A prescription for drugs?"

"I want to talk about enucleation." He placed the gun under his jacket at the small of his back and leaned against the counter. He lit a cigarette.

"Ok, sure. Can you please not smoke in here? What's wrong with your eye?"

"We'll get to that. Have you done the procedure before?" He looked around and stubbed the cigarette out in the sink.

"Yes, many times. It is my specialty, but I'm sure you know that."

"How long would it take?"

"Depends on the extent of the injury, but generally it takes sixty to ninety minutes."

"And the glass eye?"

"Six to eight weeks after the surgery. You'd get a temporary implant sutured to the muscles until that time."

"Once I uncover the eye, you've got to be ready to go, pluck the damn thing out, and get on with it, you understand?"

"Your sense of urgency, yes, the reason for it, no."

"Good enough. Get everything ready."

"That's not..." Dr. Ōtsuka stopped, as the other man reached into the back of his waistband for the gun. "I don't even know what's wrong with your eye."

"Dr. Ōtsuka, do me a favor and pull down your lower eye lids, looking up at the ceiling." The strange request, threw him off even more, and he did it without question. The other man nodded, seeing nothing but blood-shot, overworked eyes. He lifted his patch, but kept his eye closed until he was sure he had the doctor's attention, then simultaneously opened his eye, looked up, and pulled down his lower lid.

"Can we agree that this isn't normal?" he asked, giving the doctor thirty seconds of clear view before flipping the patch back in place.

"No, um, yes, a tattooed eye is not normal, but it's not grounds for enucleation either. It's, it's madness, it's unethical."

"I want it gone," he ground out the words through clenched teeth, then sighed. "Are you the man to do it? Or do I just kill you and move on?"

Dr. Ōtsuka looked at the resolve on the man's face and then stood and began readying the room for the operation. "I need to call my wife and tell her I'll be late, or she'll come looking for me."

"Go ahead," he gestured with the gun, "but I'm listening. Don't make me kill you and _then_ go visit her."

"I'll text her instead." The doctor composed a quick note saying he was going to be later than expected and to go ahead with dinner without him. He showed the other man the text, then when he was given approval, sent it.

"Alright, hop up on the table and I'll give you an anesthetic."

"Local only," the man said as he moved into position.

"What! Are you insane?"

"Did I not prove my bona fides already, doctor?"

"Of course you did, I'm sorry. Let us begin then."

* * *

The man didn't make a sound or move during the entire thirty-three minute procedure. It was the quickest that Dr. Ōtsuka had ever moved, and while it wasn't his best work, the sutures were done and the eye with its mysterious barcode was laying pupil down in a metal tray. With the optical implant secured, he packed the area with pressure bandages.

"I suggest you have someone look at this in two days or so, to make sure it is healing well, and in the meanwhile, find yourself a glass eye maker. They can do amazing things."

"I'll be back for you to look at it, doctor, but if I think - even for a second that you've called the police - I'll rape your wife while your children watch, then eviscerate them, and feed them to stray dogs. So, Wednesday night?" The man wobbled to his feet, and staggered to the mirror on the wall. He looked at what he could see beyond the dressing and was satisfied. He pulled the patch over the mess and turned around.

"You'll be bruised and in a lot of pain once that second local I gave you wears off. Take two Tylenol every four hours -"

"Or you could give me some good stuff."

"I can write you a script. We don't keep narcotics on premises."

"Never mind," Nishizono said, picking up the eyeball, and let himself out.

* * *

Two days later, he returned, bruised and pained, but healed far more than Dr. Ōtsuka had anticipated.

"I'll take that prescription this time," the man said. The tight clench in his jaw and the dark circle under his sighted eye spoke volumes about his level of pain.

Dr. Ōtsuka took out his pad and wrote out a script for the most effective pills in the largest quantity allowed by law, and then he gave three refills and wrote out a second for the same. "This should last you for six months, even after you get fitted for the glass eye, just tell me what name to put in the blank."

"Nishizono Shinji," he said, spelling his name for the doctor.

"Well, Nishizono-san, I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but I hope you never darken my door again."

"Thanks, doc, I dare say I have no reason to do so."

"Good -" Dr. Ōtsuka looked up into the barrel of the gun. It was huge at this distance - a kilometer wide if it was a centimeter - and by the time that trick of proportion came into his mind, the bullet sped out the other side, splattering his brains all over the wall behind him. Nishizono took the prescription pads and left, leaving the door open behind him.


End file.
